A Golden Opportunity - Save Files
by Reika-Hell-Flower
Summary: A collection of stories explaining the background on secondary characters in the "A Golden Opportunity" series that never got their own POV arc. Not vital to the plot, but adds some info that will tie everything together. Mostly includes OC's POV.
1. Chapter 1 - Jim Taylor

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Five Nights at Freddy's" or its characters.**

 **[A/N – Greetings, readers. As announced, here it is, a side project that will shed some light on the background of characters that don't have their own POV arc in the series. Each chapter will be dedicated to one character, this first one being dedicated to the now deceased Jim Taylor.**

 **Hope you like it :3]**

* * *

"Mom! Mom, please! You can't do this to me!"

The teenager struggled to release himself from the men in white that dragged him towards the ambulance. This couldn't be happening. What had he done wrong?

The woman in front of him wailed as her husband supported her. They did not answer their son's calls, watching as he was being taken away.

"I'm NOT crazy, mom! Please!" he yelled, to no avail. His parents had made up their minds – their son was crazy, and letting him go to an asylum was their only option.

But their son wasn't crazy.

Ever since he was a young child, Jim could see things that no one else could. He talked to invisible people – imaginary friends, his parents assumed – and insisted on saying they were real. His parents thought that, as he grew older, those "presences" would disappear and Jim would be a normal teenager. Unfortunately for them, that was not the case.

As he grew older, Jim kept having conversations with "ghosts", as he claimed, and, if that wasn't bad enough, there were rumors going around that he could _do things_ with his mind. Doors closed on their own, objects levitated… As much as Jim blamed it on the spirits, his parents slowly started to get convinced that their son was not in his right mind. He was pulling stupid pranks on them, behaving oddly, and seeing things that weren't there. Being sent to an asylum was the best thing for him.

When the doors of the ambulance closed, Jim knew things would never be the same.

* * *

Life in the asylum was hell. The procedures done on the patients to "calm them down" were barbaric, and only made their condition worse. Jim had to take pills he didn't need, get electric convulsion therapy as "punishment", and being locked in that padded white room would end up making him become what others thought he already was – insane.

But he endured it. He knew that he was on the right. Even at the asylum he could still ghosts. Spirits of previous patients that never made it out of that building, spirits of nurses that were for some reason attached to that place… Most of them were relatively harmless, but some old patients could get quite aggressive. Sometimes, they would hurt the new patients, and the doctors wrongfully thought they had hurt themselves. Whenever he tries to tell them otherwise, he would just go through "treatment" again. So, he decided it was best to keep quiet about what he saw – even if he was right.

He spent years in that place. Eventually, his act paid off and it was declared he was mentally sane again. Once he abandoned that damned white building, he couldn't help a sigh. Now that he was out, he didn't know where to go. Certainly not home – he did not want to see his parents. He understood their position, but he couldn't forgive them. They should have believed him; they should have supported him…

"Hello, Jim Taylor," greeted a voice from behind him. "Leaving us so early?"

Jim looked over his shoulder. A man in an impeccable tuxedo and top hat looked at him with a small smile, holding a cane. He was quite old, and – despite his overly posh attire – could have looked normal if it wasn't for the fact half his face was missing. The first time Jim had seen him outside, he had quite the shock. Now, however, he was used to his appearance.

"Good morning, Sir William. Yeah, they're letting me go… I'm not 'insane' anymore…" he replied, emphasizing the word "insane" by making air quotation marks.

Sir William chuckled. "I see. Off to your parents' house then, I assume?"

Jim frowned. "No. I don't want to go back there."

The old ghost watched him for a while. "Hm… Still holding on to that, are you?" He sighed. "I know this issue does not concern me, Jim Taylor, but are you sure holding on to that will be healthy?"

Jim didn't answer.

Sir William appeared next to him within seconds. "Keeping those feelings of hatred and betrayal locked up is not going to do you any good. You must sort them out and talk it out with your family. Make them understand your point of view, you see?"

The teenager rolled his eyes. "As if they care…"

"You can't expect others to know how you feel if you don't explain it to them, right?" reasoned Sir William. "Give it a try, Jim Taylor. That way, if they don't understand it, it will not be on you."

Jim finally nodded. He knew he should listen to the old ghost – he was way older than him, and wiser.

Sir William smiled. "Excellent. I'd hate to see such a young soul tarnished by a ruined family relationship. Well then…" He took off his top hat and bowed down, revealing a big bloodied hole in his scalp. "It was an honor to make your acquaintance. I hope to see you again soon."

Jim wrinkled his nose at the sight of the bloodied hole but smiled, just as the ghost vanished. "Bye, Sir William."

* * *

"Jim, clean up table 5 will you?"

"Yes sir!"

Jim hurried towards table five, retrieving the dirty plates the previous costumers had left behind. Once he was done taking the plates to the kitchen and cleaning up the table, he sighed and took out his apron. _Finally_ , his shift was over.

It had been four years since he had made it out of the asylum. He managed to have a relatively normal life afterwards, asides from not seeing anyone from his family anymore. Despite doing what Sir William had suggested, his parents hadn't been very receptive to what he had to say. They just couldn't believe that he actually saw ghosts, and now thought he was trying to get attention or something. The rather polite and calm conversation turned into a heated argument that almost ended in him punching his father.

So, he had cut ties with his parents and swore to never return until they were ready to accept his "gift". Yes, gift – even though he sometimes wished he never had that ability, he had to admit that if he didn't have it, he would just have a normal boring life. That way, he was unique. Plus, there had to be a reason as to why God had given him such a gift. Maybe he had to help these spirits somehow…?

"Hello, Mr. Taylor!"

Jim looked down and smiled. There was a small figure next to the front door of the café he worked at, waiting for him as usual. It was a little boy, covered in cuts and blood. Another spirit, naturally. He knew him from when he was alive – his name was Timothy, and he had been hit by a car recently.

"Hi, Timmy. How are you today?" he wanted to know.

Timmy showed him a ball. "Okay. Look, I found this! I thought maybe I could play soccer with the other kids…"

Jim frowned. Timmy still hadn't adjusted to the notion of being dead. That could happen sometimes. Usually, the ghosts he saw were aware of no longer being alive, but once in a while out came a ghost that didn't know or didn't want to accept that their life was over. Timmy had to know he couldn't play around with the other kids anymore, but Jim didn't have the heart to tell him that.

"Well, I have to go. They're usually at the park at this hour… Bye, Mr. Taylor!" Timmy waved goodbye and disappeared, the ball dropping from his hands and landing on the sidewalk.

Jim sighed. That also happened sometimes. A ghost would randomly lose the ability to appear solid and would just vanish, having no recollection of what they were doing. That usually happened to those who had not come to term with being dead, according to some of the most "experienced" spirits he had met. He had to admit most of what he knew from the spirit world came from what ghosts had told him in the past, including Sir William. He hadn't seen him since he left the asylum and he couldn't help but wonder where he was. Maybe keeping an eye on the patients of the asylum, probably. It was also thanks to them that he learned that his ability didn't just help him see ghosts. He could also keep them away, if he so desired, and feel their presence even if they made themselves invisible.

"Jim!" someone called.

He looked to his left and smiled. A curvy girl with her auburn hair tied in a ponytail was walking towards him, almost skipping. She waved and showed him a wide grin that sparkled along with her sky-blue eyes.

"Hey there, handsome. I couldn't help but notice that you are not in my bedroom yet, what's up with that?"

He flushed and scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, chuckling. "Bev, my shift just ended… I was going to call you…"

"Oh, shut up and kiss me," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him.

He held her close and kissed her back. "Beverley White, this is not the way a proper lady should conduct herself…" he said jokingly.

She grinned. "Good thing I wasn't planning on being a 'proper' lady then. Plus, you like it," she retorted, nudging him playfully. "Were you talking to Timmy just now?"

He nodded, now looking serious. "Yeah… He… still doesn't understand that he's dead…"

Her grin disappeared slowly. "... I know it must be hard for you, but I think you should tell him… I mean, I would do it myself, but I can't see him."

Jim nodded again. It never ceased to amaze him how well she had embraced his gift.

At first, Jim thought it was best to not tell her at all that he could see ghosts, but with time it became apparent that he would never be able to hide it from her forever. He ended up telling her everything, expecting her to walk away and never talk to him again, but instead what happened was that she sighed of relief.

"Thank god," she had said. "Whenever you got distracted or I caught you talking with yourself, I was starting to think you were high on drugs or something!"

Not only had she believed him, but she was actually quite interested in his ability and wanted to know all about the ghosts he had seen and what they could do. Never once did she look at him funny or accuse him of being insane; she simply embraced that aspect of him and showed that she was there for him, no matter what. Plus, like she had said: he was a smart guy, surely if he wanted to hide something from her, he would have come up with a better excuse than "I see dead people".

She was amazing. And to think that if he hadn't gone to that one pool party he had been dragged to by his roommate he would have never met her… Who would have thought that the introverted and homebody Jim Taylor would end up with the girl that was beating the guys at the party on an arm wrestling competition…?

As they walked down the street, talking and holding hands, he smiled as he imagined what her reaction would be when he showed her that little black box he had in his pocket. That one little black box that held a diamond ring he had bought with some hard-earned money, fruit of a year of savings. If there was ever something he was sure he wanted to do, was propose to her.

And so, five months later, Beverley White became Beverley _Taylor._

* * *

"Daddy?"

Jim took a sip of coffee before glancing at the little girl that was standing next to him. She held a stuffed teddy bear in her hand and looked at him with a worried expression.

"Mira, it's late. You should be in bed, sleeping," he said, turning to face her.

"The lady in red is still there… You said they were gone!" his daughter sobbed.

He sighed and picked her up, holding her in his lap. "I'm sorry sweetie… I'll go there and tell her to leave you alone, alright?"

He felt her nod as she held him tight, sobbing lightly. He never expected things to turn out like this…

Fifteen years had passed since he had proposed to Beverley, and she accepted in a rather excited and loud manner. They had a good life, and were happy together. Now their family was bigger – they had three children, two boys and one girl, the girl being the middle child. The eldest, Jeff, was a teenager now and going through the usual rebellious phase that ensued with puberty. The youngest, Joey, was merely a toddler. A chubby and playful toddler. Mira, the one whose sleep had just been disturbed was, however, the one Jim worried about the most. Amongst his children, she was the only one who seemed to be able to see ghosts as well.

He didn't know it would happen. He didn't even think it would happen. But it did. One of his children inherited his gift, but at the moment it was being more of a curse to her. It wasn't the first time her sleep had been cut short due to spirits invading her bedroom. Usually they meant no harm, but there had been a stressful situation in which one ghost seemed to be developing an uncanny obsession with her, to the point of following her to her school. It was seemingly gone now, but Jim still had to check her room every night before she went to sleep, otherwise the little black-haired girl wouldn't even go in. The memory of all her dolls suddenly appearing all around her in the middle of the night with nooses around their necks still haunted her… and her father.

The best he could do right now was comfort her and make sure no other ghost was bothering her. In time, she would grow up, and if her ability to see ghosts persisted, then he would be there to explain it all properly to her. For now, she was too young.

* * *

The room was silent.

A fifty-year old Jim sat beside a bed, giving the woman laying there a loving look.

Beverly Taylor was dying. After years of fighting off breast cancer, her time had come. She was still the same sassy and bold woman he had fallen in love with, despite the baldness and the paleness in her skin. She was still beautiful and strong-willed… but the illness had won. She could no longer stand. Her body did not possess the same strength as her soul anymore.

Beverley opened her eyelids and looked at her husband. She smiled. "Hey there handsome…"

He smiled back. "Bev… I love you so much…"

"As if I don't know…" she scoffed. "You have to, if you're still here." She then looked at the young woman standing next to Jim. A twenty-year old black-haired girl, who had one hand on the man's shoulder. "Mira, sweetie…"

The girl blinked. "Hello mother." Her voice sounded like a whisper, but it was possible to capture every word. "Is there anything you need me to do?"

Beverley shook her head. "I don't think so… You already did everything a mother could possibly want… You grew up to be a beautiful young woman, and you treat us so well…"

"I have no reason to not treat you well, mother," Mira replied promptly.

"Ah… How I wish Jeff was here…" the woman said sadly.

Jim looked down. "I am so sorry, Bev… It's my fault…"

"Nonsense," Mira said roughly. "Geoffrey chose to go away and not talk to us anymore. If there is someone to blame, it's him. Father always treated us well and gave us a good life, if he can't handle your ability then it's his fault, not yours."

Her father shook his head. He could not agree with that. Jeff had always been the one to question his ability the most. Even as a child, he did not like it when his father would talk with a spirit and try to help. It got worse when he became a teenager, since his friends would often mock him and say his dad was crazy. Jim did not handle it well at the time. Being called "crazy" affected him, reminding him of the time he spent at the asylum, and he ended up lashing at him. Their relationship became so strained that they couldn't even talk to each other at some point. Finally, when Jeff turned eighteen, he left and never came back. Jim ended up making his son do the exact same he had done to his parents…

Mira had always stood by his side. Maybe because she had the same gift, she never questioned his decisions and defended her father every time he argued with Jeff. Not that she didn't suffer from their abilities either – at school, she had no friends. It seemed she had found a way to prevent it from getting to her though; over the years, Mira had become a stoic and silent girl, who rarely talked unless spoken to. Whether she actually minded being so lonesome or not, it was hard to tell.

His youngest son was, in the end, his biggest regret. Joey was supportive of both his father's and older sister's abilities, and was even jealous that he could not see ghosts like they could. He went into an allegedly haunted building to try and contact the ghosts there when he was eleven, which led to his death. He was found dead inside the building, and it was assumed he had been hit by a piece of the ceiling that fell. Jim suspected, however, that it had been the ghost that inhabited that place, which only made Jeff angrier. If only he had kept his children away from anything involving the spirit world…

Jim sighed in sadness. His family was torn apart, and it was all because of him. Mira was going to suffer just like him, and it was all his fault…

"Father."

He was snapped back to reality by his daughter's call. Beverley was having her last seconds of life. He held her hand quickly, and tried to hold back his tears. Mira's grip on his shoulder tightened.

"Jim…" his wife called weakly. "I… love you…"

He smiled, a small tear managing to escape his eyelids.

"I'll… wait for you…"

The light in Beverley's eyes disappeared. She closed her eyelids and exhaled for the last time.

* * *

"So, Jim Taylor, uh? You sure that you're willing to take on the task of cleaning this place?"

Jim nodded in response. "Indeed I am, Mr. Richards."

The man in front of him gave him a long look. Jim stared at the man's sharp eyes. It was like staring down an eagle. That was one man that he should not cross if he could avoid it.

The man named Lawrence Richards finally nodded. "Alright then, welcome to the family," he said, showing a hand for him to shake, which he took gladly. "But you know, a man your age should probably be considering retirement…"

Jim chuckled. "I still have some energy in me, Mr. Richards. I assure you, I am here to stay for a good couple of years."

His new boss shrugged. "If you say so…"

Jim suddenly turned his head to his right. Out the corner of his eye, he had seen something… unusual…

He could have sworn he had seen a yellow bear, peeking out the door that led to a corridor. But it was gone now. Jim frowned. How odd. Spirits didn't take on a different appearance unless they were hiding from someone. Hm.

"What are you looking at?" asked Mr. Richards.

Jim looked at him. "Oh, nothing Mr. Richards. Say, does this place have anything… unusual about it? Any odd occurrences in its history?"

Mr. Richards took on a defensive posture. That was not a good sign. "Like what, exactly?" he asked, in a polite voice that most certainly concealed danger.

Jim evaluated the man for a while before shaking his head. "Nothing… never mind. I'll take my leave."

He turned around to leave, but just as he did so, he heard a voice. A tiny chirping voice, so low he could have missed it if his steps were any louder.

" **please… help me"**

Jim looked over his shoulder. A little girl with black hair was peeking into the dining area at the same spot he had seen the yellow bear. She was somewhat similar to how his daughter Mira looked like as a child, which made him feel the urge to hug the sad-looking child. She had blood all over her shirt, and a bit of blood coming out of her mouth. She was flickering, like the image on a TV with bad reception, and sometimes she became the yellow bear he had seen. A bear with no eyes, and wires falling off its eye sockets and mouth. What could that be…?

He smiled and bowed his head lightly. "Certainly, my dear," he muttered in a whisper.

The little girl smiled and vanished. Jim sighed. Well, another day in the life of a medium. Another ghost needed him. And he would not die until he helped her.

* * *

 **[A/N - And there it is. Some info about Jim's past. And a little sneak peek at how Mira acts too, since she'll be officially meaking her appearance in "The Other Guard".**

 **Jim started to talk a lot like Sir William once he got older xD]**


	2. Chapter 2 - Marshall and Daniel Grayson

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Five Nights at Freddy's" or its characters.**

 **[A/N - Long time since this one has been updated...**

 **Anyway, this chapter has just some info on Phil Grayson's (Phone Guy) kids, Marshall and Daniel. At the time of the main plotline ("The Night Shift" and sequels) Marshall is 15 and Daniel is 8.]**

* * *

It was a busy day at the hospital at usual.

There were injured people waiting as patiently as they could to be seen by doctors, others who looked quite ill, and some just rushed past the doctors to see someone they knew that had gotten into some kind of weird accident. It was a loud and movement-filled day.

Amidst the chaos, a young brown-haired woman entered the hospital calmly, holding a seven year old boy by the hand. The little boy had a large brown teddy bear in his hands, one wearing a top hat and a bowtie. They walked past the injured and the ill, paying them no mind, as they headed towards the maternity hall.

The ambience was much different there. There was nothing but peace and quietude, only interrupted by a distant cry of a newborn child. The young boy perked up.

"Is that my brother, Aunt Tricia?" he asked, eagerly.

"Your dad hasn't said anything yet, Marshall, I don't think so. Just be patient," Patricia said.

Marshall huffed. He was tired of waiting! He wanted to see his baby brother _now_. He had already waited for nine months; that was more than enough for him. How long did it take for a baby to be born anyway?

The boy had spent nine months reading every book about babies he could find avidly. He wanted to be ready to receive his little brother and be the best big brother he could be. Unfortunately for him, all the books seemed to be directed towards the mother-to-be, and not _brother_ -to-be, and so the information he found was not always that useful. After all, he didn't need to know how to _breast-feed_ his brother…

He looked at the teddy bear he had in his hands, making its head tilt lightly. "Why did we get a Freddy toy?" he wondered. "I told you I wanted Foxy…"

Patricia sighed patiently. "And _I_ already told you they were sold-out on Foxy," she reminded. "Don't you think your brother could be scared of him, all with the hook and the missing eye…?"

Marshall scoffed. "Foxy's not scary! And if my brother is scared of something, I'll be there to protect him," he stated, confidently.

His aunt smiled, ruffling his hair. "You are going to be a great big brother, Marshall Grayson. Just like your dad."

"Pfeh, tell me something I _don't_ know…"

Patricia chuckled, ruffling her nephew's hair more vigorously, ignoring the young boy's protests.

Half an hour later, Patricia got a call from her brother, Phil. The baby had arrived.

* * *

"… I hate the rain…"

Marshall stared at the window of his room, bored beyond belief, watching the rain and occasional lightning. The weather outside was atrocious – a fancy word he had learned from his dad that meant "it sucks" – and he had nothing to do. There was nothing interesting on TV, he had already memorizes the comic books he owned and he didn't feel like playing video games. What was there to do…?

A loud thunder made the glass of the window shake. Marshall stared at it, still bored and not feeling startled at all, but a shriek from a nearby room made it clear that someone else found it frightening.

It had been three years since that day when Marshall had gone to the hospital to see his baby brother. He had demanded to be the first one to hold baby Daniel, though his father stood behind him to make sure he didn't drop him.

At first, all his brother did was sleep, cry, poop and eat. Marshall avoided taking part in the whole "diaper changing" scene, naturally, but he would be most eager to help with feeding him or getting him to sleep. He was no singer, but he made a tremendous effort to memorize some silly songs from a baby-oriented TV show just so he would sing them to Daniel.

As Daniel grew, and learned to walk, Marshall took responsibility for holding his hand whenever the family of four went out, and always helped him up whenever he fell. Daniel was a bit of a crybaby when it came to injuries. He always cried whenever he fell. But Marshall didn't mind it. It was his job to comfort his brother when he cried. And today was no different.

Marshall headed towards the room the siblings shared, and peeked inside. He couldn't see Daniel anywhere, which only meant one thing – he was hiding under the bed.

"Dan?" he called. He heard whimpers coming from underneath the bed, which confirmed his assumptions. "Daniel, why are you hiding there?"

There was a small sob. "T-there… monsters… o-outside…"

Another thunder was heard, and Daniel yelped again, resuming his sobbing afterwards.

Marshall bent over and pulled the covers of the bed away so he could look underneath. His little brother was cowering in the furthest corner, sobbing in fear.

"Those are no monsters, Daniel," Marshall assured. "That's just the sound of thunder, it won't hurt you."

Daniel whimpered. "R… really?"

Marshall smiled. "Did I ever lie to you, Dan? C'mon, get over here." He gestured for Daniel to approach him, showing his little brother a hand for him to take.

The youngest of the boys hesitated for a bit, but then took his older sibling's hand and allowed Marshall to lead him out from under the bed. Then, he kneeled on the floor, whipping the tears away.

Marshall put an arm around his brother's shoulders. "See? No monsters here, just like I told you. And if there are any monsters, your big brother will kick their butt!"

Daniel managed to make a small grin. "Promise?"

His brother nodded. "Promise. That's what big brothers are for, right?"

Daniel nodded as well, not looking as scared anymore. "Ryan's big brother is mean though…"

Marshall's smile disappeared. "Did he do something to you?" he asked.

"No, but… I saw him yesterday… teasing Ryan…" Daniel explained. "He was scaring him with a Foxy mask…"

Marshall grumbled. Not again…

Even though he was only ten years old, Marshall was quite "infamous" in his school. People knew that he was not one to back down from a fight, and they were also _vaguely_ aware that his father had been in the army. Logically, Marshall would often exaggerate in the stories he told about his dad (often including him single-handedly wiping out enemy forces of about 40 soldiers), which made some of the younger kids look up to Phil Grayson with some sort of odd mixture of both fear and admiration. It was also common for Marshall to get involved in fights that had nothing to do with him, if it revolved around some younger kid getting picked on for no reason.

One of those kids he usually stood up for was Ryan Martins. He was a local boy, lived near the pizzeria Marshall's dad worked in, but he _hated_ it there. Marshall didn't fully understand why Ryan hated the pizzeria – after all, most if not all other kids loved the place, and the robots – but he didn't pester the kid about it. He was two years younger than Marshall, and it was uncommon for a day to go by without him crying. Usually, it was his older brother's doing.

Erik Martins was sixteen years old, and, from what Marshall knew, he sometimes helped Freddy Fazbear's Pizza's employees with spreading the news about the pizzeria by handing out pamphlets or even helping the entertainers by wearing masks and watching over the kids for some money. At home and at school though, he was no model teenager. It was no secret that he spent most of his time teasing his little brother. If it was normal sibling rivalry, it wouldn't be a big deal, but he almost always went too far with his teasing, and Ryan would almost always break down into tears.

"Why is he always picking on Ryan?" Daniel asked timidly.

Marshall sighed. "Because he's a big jerk, that's why," he declared. "He's not doing his job right. Big brothers take care of their little siblings, they're not supposed to be mean to them or scare them."

"He should get fired!" Daniel protested, innocently.

Marshall laughed. "That's right, he should! He shouldn't work on the 'Big Brother Department' anymore!"

Both siblings laughed at the "Big Brother Department" joke for a while, forgetting about the scary thunderstorm going on outside. Daniel looked up at his older sibling with pride. He had a great big brother – strong and brave. If only he was more like him…

* * *

Patricia looked at Marshall with one of her eyebrows raised. "Why exactly did you want me to fix this?" she inquired.

"Is it fixed or not?" Marshall asked, ignoring her question. "It looks fixed to me – can I have it back?"

His aunt sighed and handed the golden teddy bear back to him. "Seriously, Marshall, where did you get this teddy bear? I don't remember this being amongst Daniel's toys…"

Marshall took the teddy bear in his hands and looked at it carefully. "That's because it's not. Thanks, Aunt Tricia." And he left before Patricia could question him any further about it.

It had only been a week since he had comforted his younger brother about the thunders. Now he was on his way to comfort someone else.

He walked out of his house and headed towards a kid that was crying on the sidewalk. The ten year old stopped in front of the kid, with the golden teddy bear in hand.

"Here you go. My aunt fixed Golden Freddy for you," he announced.

The crying kid looked up. He had a shirt stripped in black and white and brown messy hair. The boy managed to make a small smile. "T-thanks…" He took the teddy bear and held it against his chest. "You fixed my friend…"

Marshall frowned. "It wasn't me, but you're welcome." He sat next to him. "Ryan, why do you carry that teddy bear around? You know that your brother is always teasing you for it."

Ryan looked at his toy lovingly. "She's my friend. I can't leave her behind…"

"Golden Freddy is a _he_ ," Marshall reminded.

"R-right," Ryan stuttered, scratching his cheek. "Yeah, he is…"

Marshall sniffed. Ryan was a weird kid. "Look, if you're scared I can walk you home. Your friend won't help much if your brother and his friends show up to bother you again."

"She does her best… I-I mean _'he'_ ," Ryan said. "But it's fine, you don't have to… b-bother with me…"

"It's not a bother," Marshall stated. "I don't have anything else to do. Lily refused to be my girlfriend _again_ so…"

Ryan snickered. "Lily is that pretty red-haired girl from your class, right?"

Marshall smirked. "Yep. Most gorgeous girl in school," he affirmed, suddenly looking at Ryan with a glare. "She's mine though, so don't get any ideas."

"I-I would never…!"

"Joking." Marshall yawned. "Well, let's get you home. Dad's making my favorite meal for dinner today so I gotta get home early."

Ryan nodded and stood up after Marshall, smiling meekly. "Thanks Marshall… I wish my big brother was cool like you…"

Marshall looked at him, frowning again. "I'll never understand why Erik is such a jerk to you," he confessed. "But don't let it get to you, Ryan. He'll learn a lesson one of these days."

"Yeah… My friend says that too," Ryan confessed, once again holding his Golden Freddy teddy bear close to his heart, as if it was the one thing in his life he loved and cherished. "She always tells me to have hope that it will get better… She always tells me… _Tomorrow is another day.._ "

Marshall patted Ryan's shoulder comfortingly. "Your friend's right," he said, though he was assuming that this "friend" Ryan talked about was an imaginary friend of some sort. "Tell me more about this friend of yours, she seems nice. Is she pretty?"

Ryan eyed him with suspicion, but Marshall shrugged. What could he say, he appreciated a girl's looks. His father often told him he was too young to already be chasing after girls, but hey, they were the ones chasing after him usually. Well, sometimes. Not his fault that he was already a _handsome devil_ at the mere age of ten _…_

"She's beautiful," Ryan said, blushing a little. "She's your age, I think. Black hair, amber eyes. She's always smiling."

Marshall's smile turned into a teasing smirk. "Sounds to me like someone has a crush."

Ryan's face went red. "N-no! I d-don't have a crush… Honest!" he shrieked as Marshall's smirk got wider.

"Suuuuure," the ten year old sneered. "I'll act like I believe you. What's future Mrs. Martins' name then?"

"Rika," Ryan replied, pouting as he tried to cover his potato-red face with his teddy bear "Her name is Rika."


	3. Chapter 3 - Mira Taylor

**Disclaimer: I do not own "Five Nights at Freddy's" or its characters.**

 **[A/N - Aaaaaand here it is! A chapter with some backstory on the new janitor of Freddy Fazbear's - the daughter of the late Jim Taylor, Mira. Beware of some surprising reveal at the end. At least it should be. I dunno.]**

* * *

A small black-haired girl looked at the entrance of the park apprehensively as she approached it along with a herd of children. She wasn't too sure if it was a good idea to be there. As much as the teacher reassured her that she would watch over them and everything would be alright, the little girl was worried still – there were some things that the teacher could not protect them from…

"Alright, children," the teacher called, standing in front of them. "Remember, don't stray too far, and play where I can see you. Don't pick up anything that's on the ground, and if some stranger talks to you, come call me immediately."

The majority of the children said: "Yes, miss Wheeler" in a choir, but the girl with black hair had her attention focused elsewhere.

She was looking at the slide, to which a group of kids from her class ran once the teacher gave them permission to scatter. There was someone already there, on the slide, but the kids who were getting ready to play there didn't seem to see him. They went past the sick-looking teenage boy as if he wasn't even there. In fact, everyone that was on the park didn't seem to notice the boy, who was now observing the children on the slide with an almost envious look. The girl blinked, and frowned. That teenager was another one. One of _them_.

Mira Taylor was the only one who could see them. Some young, some old; some normal-looking, and some so scary she would have nightmares about them… She never asked for this ability she had inherited from her dad. Most of the times, she didn't like being able to see them, but there was no "off-switch" – she was stuck with this power forever.

The "things" the young girl could see while no one else did were ghosts. They were stuck on the physical world for a variety of reasons, and they were _everywhere_. Her father, Jim Taylor, had explained to her that ghosts were just the souls of people who died and didn't move on. According to him, most people would go either to Heaven or Hell once they died, but there were some, like the teenager near the slide on the park, that didn't. Some because they had unfinished business – whatever that meant – others because they didn't accept that they were dead… Most of the ghosts young Mira had seen didn't bother with trying to contact the living. They just watched. There were some, though, that weren't so peaceful.

Mira stepped towards the slide carefully. The teenager was still there, eyeing the children with a scowl. He didn't look happy to have the kids so close to him. If Mira didn't intervene, he could end up trying to hurt him. She was scared, of course, but since she was the only one who could see ghosts, she had to help the ones who couldn't.

Once Mira was right next to the teen, he looked at her. The little girl gulped, but composed herself almost immediately, trying to look brave.

"You have to leave," she said, narrowing her blue eyes at him. "You know you don't belong here."

The ghostly teen's eyes narrowed as well. "Don't you tell me what to do, _brat_ ," he spat. "I'll do whatever I want."

"Go away!" she ordered, stomping her foot. Some golden sparks that only Mira and the ghost could see shot up from the ground, towards the teenager.

The ghost staggered back, an expression of shock emerging on his face. He glared at her as the sparks dissipated and then disappeared as well.

Mira took a deep breath and then sighed. He was gone. She managed to make him go away, but she wasn't strong enough to keep the really dangerous ones away yet. That teenager was nothing compared to some of the other ghosts Mira had seen…

Her father had taught her how to keep some ghosts away, since it was another ability that came with her being a medium. Back when she was five, around the time when she first started seeing ghosts, the spirits were pretty much free to do whatever they wanted, as the little girl was too frightened to stand up to them. Most of them were terrifying, carrying with them the scars and injuries from the time they died, and the more anger they felt towards their death, the more aggressive they were towards the living. Now that she was eight, she was more capable of keeping some ghosts at bay. The most aggressive and powerful ones were still a challenge, however.

One ghost in particular had made Mira's nights a time to fear. He was gone now – hopefully – but it wasn't too long ago that she was still dreading the time when she'd have to go to bed and close her eyes. She still wasn't too sure of who that ghost was, even today. She just knew that it had grown obsessed with her for some reason, following her everywhere and constantly scaring her for fun.

Sometimes, when she tried really hard to catch a glimpse of the elusive ghost and see how he looked like, she would see that, for some reason, he chose to appear to her sporting the color purple, and he had tall ears, like a rabbit. Because of that, she nicknamed him "Purple Bunny".

Her father had managed to make him go away, and it had been a year already since the last time he bothered her. Mira could only hope that he would never come back… He had, after all, left with a threat – **"You won't get rid of me so easily, my lovely Mira. Remember – you are** _ **all mine**_ **."**

"Who were you talking to, freak?"

Mira looked up. One of the children that were on the slide was smirking at her, while his friends snickered.

"No one," she replied, looking back at the spot where the teenager ghost had been just seconds ago, to make sure he was really gone. "I wasn't talking to anyone…"

"Pft yeah, you don't have any friends, so you have to make imaginary ones, right?" the boy sneered, elbowing the child closest to him so that he'd laugh along with him. "But it looks like not even imaginary friends want you around. You know, because you're a freak."

The girl didn't respond to the taunt. She turned away from the slide and walked towards a swing that was unoccupied, and distanced from where all the other children were. She could hear the kids from the slide laughing; probably still making fun of her, like they always did.

Everyone knew that Mira Taylor was a weird kid that often talked with "herself". Always looking at some place where there was nothing, as far as they could see, to look at, and seemingly scared by nothing. The kids at school loved making fun of her. It was easy for them to make fun of someone who they thought was weak and weird so they would look cool by comparison.

At first, it was hard to see them all gang up on her and insult her. Now, she was used to it. It was routine. They didn't know any better. There were times where she thought that maybe she should let a ghost hurt them, so they would know what it was like to be scared and know no one would believe them if they told the truth about what attacked them. Like her, when she was scratched by Purple Bunny, and her teacher was worried that she had gotten involved in a fight. But, then again, she thought: "It wouldn't solve things. I'd just be as bad as them…"

So, she sat there on that lonely swing, watching the other kids have fun with their friends. She wondered… what was it like to have a friend…?

* * *

All of the students' eyes were focused on that one weird girl that had just stepped inside the cafeteria. Some wondered what was wrong with her. Maybe she wasn't feeling alright, judging from the horrified expression she had. Most of them didn't bother with worry and simply jumped straight to judging, and assuming she was just a weirdo.

The black-haired girl everyone was watching was looking at the ceiling with all the looks of someone who was seeing something horrible beyond description unfold before her eyes. Her mouth was agape in shock, and her blue eyes were widened. Her hands trembled, and the books she had in her hands fell on the floor. No one moved to help her. They were still wondering what she was seeing, and what was going on.

From the girl's point of view, she wasn't even aware of the looks she was getting. She was used to having people look at her as if she's not completely sane. Skeptical and judgmental stares – she had seen all variations.

As a medium, Mira Taylor was used to being judged. From experience in her childhood, she had learned that it was best to not share with the world the kinds of things she could see. People had a very "believe-only-what-I-can-see" kind of mentality, and so if they didn't see it, it was not real, and people who claimed it was were out of their minds. As a child, she quickly grew used to the notion of not having friends. Even if she didn't tell the world what she saw, she still contacted ghosts. She could see them, talk to them, hear them… And she could not ignore them – especially the ones who were so insistent on getting her attention. Being found talking to – apparently – no one all the time and walking around on graveyards and abandoned buildings at late hours in the night hadn't earned her much of a social life. It was painful to know she didn't have a best friend like all other girls her age, and that it would be probably be like that forever. But she did her best to act like she didn't care.

Still, whatever the other students at that high school were thinking of her at the moment did not bother her. What _did_ bother her was what she was seeing on the ceiling of the school she was supposed to start having classes in.

" **H… help… me… w-why me…? Why me?!"**

" **D-don't let him… near me…! NO!"**

" **M-make it… stop… ugh… make them stop!"**

Three ghosts, hanging from nooses on the ceiling. When a ghost appeared like that, exactly the way they died, it showed that they were not at peace. They were losing their "sanity" – their touch with reality, sort-of-speak – as evidenced by their grey-ish color.

One of them, a fat teenage boy, sobbed uncontrollably as she scratched his neck. Another one, a girl, kicked and squirmed as she seemed to be panicking. There was blood dripping from her legs, and from under her skirt… The last ghost, a short skinny boy, seemed to be the youngest of the three. He had a polo shirt and round glasses that were tied with duct tape, probably damaged from all times they had been broken by punches.

All three of them cried for help, trying to struggle against the nooses, above all the other students that had been comfortably eating their meals before Mira Taylor had noticed their presence. The other students didn't know they were there. How long have they been there? Crying for help, crying for justice against the ones who pushed them to suicide? The female ghost, even though she was not the youngest in age, seemed to be wearing the more modern clothes of the three, and she wasn't as grey as the others. She was the most recent ghost.

Mira couldn't stand there watching any longer. Ignoring the books she had dropped, she turned around and ran out of the cafeteria. She headed towards the bathroom, where the first thing she did was head to the toilet to throw up. It had been a long time since she had been affected by a ghost like that. But seeing them there, crying and struggling above the chattering crowd of cheerful teenagers, who may or may have not been involved with their decision to end their lives, had been too much for her.

She stepped away from the toilet once she was done, looking at the mirror. Her hands were still shaking.

The reflection of an ivory-skinned girl with black hair to her shoulders and blue eyes looked back at her. She washed her hands and then her face. God, she looked so tired already… She really thought she was used to seeing horrible things most people would never consider seeing outside a horror movie. She didn't bat an eye when she saw mangled ghosts of people who were involved in bloody accidents. And yet, there she was, feeling sick over three ghosts that didn't even look that bad, compared to some others.

She couldn't let the emotions of ghosts get to her, or she would really go insane one day. As a medium, she could feel their despair, their anger, and their hate… And their memories too… The two boys, bullied until they felt like they weren't worth the space they were taking up on the world; and the girl, who had also been marginalized by her so-called "friends" and raped by a group of stupid boys. She didn't want those memories flashing in front of her eyes anymore…

As she grew older, her powers also developed. She could now keep dangerous spirits at bay, but on the other hand she could also connect to the ghosts in a way that usually resulted on her feeling exactly like she was feeling at the moment. Like a mess. Their memories, emotions, she could feel and see them all and it would sometimes be so hard to separate them from her own emotions that she would end up wondering if it was really worth it to go through all of that to help people she had never even met.

This couldn't keep happening. She had to be strong. If she was to live her life with that ability and help these restless spirits, then she could not do it by being an emotional sap that would break down in tears or throw up every time she came across a ghost with a heartbreaking story. If she really wanted to help them, she had to do so following logic and by being calm and collected. The spirits were the ones that needed to be calmed down, and she couldn't do it by freaking out as much as them.

If it had to be done… she would shut down her emotions. No matter how long it would take. Emotions were only a nuisance anyway.

* * *

"Still here?"

Three ghosts sobbed quietly in the deserted cafeteria, once the place where all the students would gather to chat, tease, and, on occasion, actually eat.

They had grown used to be alone by now. Ever since the school had been closed that no one went there anymore. So, it was a surprise when they heard footsteps approach the place where they usually stayed at.

It was a girl who looked no older than eighteen, though she was actually on her late twenties. Her long black hair danced in her back as she stepped towards the three ghosts. She scanned them with her blue eyes, and for the first time in many, many years they felt like someone could actually see them.

"I thought you'd still be here," Mira said. Her voice was almost a whisper now, but the three ghosts could hear her clearly. "Don't you think it's about time you move on?"

The ghost with round glasses sobbed louder. **"They'll never stop... never…"**

Mira looked at him. "You mean the boys who used to bully you?" she asked, sounding like she didn't care.

She had finally gotten good at burying her emotions underneath a layer of "I-don't-care-ness". Most people found this unnerving, and even scary how she could be so stoic and cold. Better to be without emotion than show emotion and get hurt.

"Those boys have learned their lesson," she informed. "They got quite a scare some years ago, and now know that they should not harass others for fun."

The sobbing ghost looked up at her. **"R-really?"**

The medium nodded. "All four of them have families now. They teach their children not to be mean to others if they haven't been mean to them first," she said. "And your family is doing well. Your sister became a scientist. In your honor, I heard."

Even though this made the ghost sob more, this time it seemed they were tears of joy.

Mira then turned to the chubby ghost. "And you? The same guys used to bother you, didn't they?"

" **I'm not happy for them!"** the ghost growled. He seemed to be the most aggressive of the bunch. **"They should have died! They should have died like I did! And rotten in Hell!"**

The medium blinked, undisturbed by this outburst. Very standard behavior for ghosts who had been wrong in the past, to lash out and want revenge for what they endured.

"How do you think their families would feel like if they died now?" Mira questioned. "What they did to you was wrong, but they've done their best to make emends. Your family was devastated when you died… Do you really want others to go through that?"

She allowed her words to sink in on the ghost for a while before carrying on.

"One of them has a wife who is very ill," she informed. "If he dies, she will have no one to pay for her treatment. She would probably die as well. Another one has three young children and a wife who is absent for work often. I can cut this noose and let you go out in the world to hunt them down and hurt them as you please…" She tilted her head as the chubby ghost looked up at in shock. "… but I must warn you – revenge has a way with turning you into a bigger monster than the one who wronged you. If you go down the path of vengeance against someone who has changed their ways, you might lose _your_ way."

The ghost swallowed hard, and grimaced as more tears streamed down his face. **"I just… w-wanted them to s-stop it…"**

"They have," she assured. "Just this past year, they've visited your graves. They can't face your families, but… it was the best they could do for you now. I can't begin to tell you how sorry they are. Don't you think that them living with the burden of having caused your death is punishment enough?"

The two male ghosts didn't answer, but they didn't have to.

Mira instead turned to the only female ghost that was there. She was silent, no longer crying like the first day Mira had seen her.

" **So…"** the girl started, sounding bitter. **"… are you going to tell me that the guys that raped me are good people now, and that they're sorry?"** She looked at Mira with a glare. **"What if I don't care?"**

"Unfortunately, I can't tell you that," Mira stated. "They are not sorry. In fact, I believe they have not, unlike your friends' bullies, changed at all in all these years."

The female ghost's glare deepened. **"And you want me to forgive them still?!"**

"I never said that," Mira replied calmly. "Forgiving someone who has done their best to change is one thing – but there is no reason to forgive someone who has no intention in changing."

The three ghosts watched as Mira took a chair and placed it on top of a table. She stood on top of the chair, now high enough to be on the same level as them. She took out a small pocket-knife, the one she had used to open the door of the school and the one she would use now to cut down the ropes that bounded the ghosts to that place.

"I am going to release you three. I expect you two to move on now." She nodded at the two boys. "I say it's about time. You can stop to leave a sign to your families that you're okay. Something they'll recognize as it being you – that should make them happy."

The two male ghosts nodded as best as they could.

Mira then turned to the girl. "As for you." She grabbed her rope and started to cut it with her knife. "I say that those boys who assaulted you are in need of some karma. They should be at the local bar right now – looking for their next victim, I reckon. Do your worst, but don't kill them. Leave them for the police to find. Once you're done, it's time to move on. And I'll know if you don't."

The rope that bound the girl to the school was cut. The ghost lingered there for a while, staring at Mira, before vanishing into thin air.

As Mira started cutting the ropes of the two boys, the one sporting round glasses gulped.

" **Why did you tell Mitchell that it was wrong to have revenge on our bullies, but you told Jessie that it was okay for** _ **her**_ **to do it?"** he wondered. **"It's still revenge, right?"**

Mira sliced the rope that bound the chubby boy named Mitchell apart, finally releasing him. "No," she said. "They will never change. They are the ones taking up space, not you guys. If they aren't stopped, their list of victims will only increase. This is justice."

She stepped out of the chair once she was done releasing the boy with glasses. She put the chair back on its place, but then looked at the ceiling. The third ghost was still there.

"Yes?"

The ghost gulped. **"Were you…"** He paused. **"Were you, um… raped like Jessie was?"**

Mira blinked. For the first time in a long while, something akin to a smile emerged on her face. "You are a smart one," she praised.

She didn't feel upset with talking about it, even though it could be seen as a tough subject. She had grown to accept that as part of her life. There was nothing she could to change that event.

It happened when she was fifteen. She was coming back home from a visit to some old spirits that were very persistent about not moving on when she felt like she was being followed.

What happened after she turned around, asking if someone was there, was something she preferred not to recall.

" **Did the same guys do it? Is that why you want Jessie to hurt them?"**

"No," the medium said. "I don't know who it was."

" **How do you know it wasn't one of them then?"** the ghost insisted.

"I can feel a person's spirit," she explained. "Each spirit feels different, and I haven't come across my attacker's spirit again. Yet," she added. "Go on now. It's time for you to finally rest."

The ghost finally disappeared, and she could feel he was gone for good. Good. He was good kid. He deserved to have some good rest.

Mira stepped out of the school, pulling her coat closer to her. In the end, she hadn't been completely honest to that spirit. The identity of her attacker was, in fact, a mystery to her, but at the same… it wasn't…

She remembered, that the last thing she saw before being pinned to the ground that day was something – or some _one_ – she thought was long gone since her childhood years. She never expected to see that maniacal grin and those intense white pupils. Whoever it was that attacked her was doing so under the control of… _that_ …

In a sort of twisted way, Purple Bunny had gotten what he wanted that day.


End file.
